


Clean Body, Dirty Mind

by Sziondaisy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sziondaisy/pseuds/Sziondaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perceptor and Scope meet up after a long time apart and Perceptor finds himself cleaning a wriggling, moaning little rifle who doesn't play fair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean Body, Dirty Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Scope is my headcanon name for pre-DJD Vos.

For Scope, there was no touch like Perceptor's. Not even Kaon with his nimble fingers or Tarn with his possessive grip could work him into such a frenzied state of pleasure as fast as Perceptor's familiar and affectionate touch could. 

As a rifle – a mech designed to be held and used – touch was one of the most important aspects of a mechs personality and it often told him more about the mech than their expressions or body language. For example the first time Tarn had held him, confidently in a vice like grip, Scope knew that he was a mech who didn't like to give up control. Tarn liked to dominate, where as Kaon's touch was more tentative and curious, indicative of a mech who liked to learn and valued knowledge over strength. 

Perceptor's grip was tight, not painfully so, but Scope could always feel the pressure along his barrel, a reassuring squeeze. As always his handler's grip was strong and confident, with no hesitation or wasted touches, everything movement carefully planned in advance for maximum results in the shortest amount of time. 

There was nothing left for Scope to learn about how Perceptor held him. It was comfortable, familiar and safe. Perceptor treated him like a mech, even in his rifle form, something of a rarity to Scope who was almost always treated like a weapon as soon as he'd switched forms.

Perceptor was, and always would be, the mech he felt most comfortable being held by. Safe and content in the hands of a mech he knew valued him for more than his form.

As much as he valued Perceptor's touch, it was simultaneously pleasurable and irritating, just once, Scope wanted Perceptor to break the strict routine and stop being predictable. Just once he wanted something new and exciting, something to shake his world up a little. 

Regardless of what Perceptor seemed to think, Scope was certain that touch was not something that could be analysed and perfected. The enjoyment came from the uncertainty, when and where was the next touch? How hard? Would it scratch his paint or caress him? Knowing what was coming next took away the suspense and Perceptor was beyond predictable.

Scope had tried more times than he cared to remember to explain it to Perceptor, but he was always met with the same steely resistance and blank expression. Perceptor had his way and it worked for him, the shortest cleaning with the best results. Perfect results that could be produced again and again by following the tried and tested formula. Nothing Scope said could make him change that routine. Perceptor was adamant that the formula worked so why change it when Scope so obviously enjoyed what he was doing?

And Scope did enjoy it, he couldn't deny that. 

The little rifle squirmed in Perceptor's lap, arching and twisting into the touch as he moaned for more, /please. Quit teasing. I want you and you're the worst tease ever./

Perceptor tutted, “let me finish, then you can do what you want. I've barely even started on your internals yet and you're making such a fuss.” 

The answer only infuriated Scope who snatched at the chance to misbehave and break Perceptor's regimented cleaning once and for all. It happened the same way in every cleaning session and Perceptor was well used to it, predicting the 'attacks' before they happened and today was no exception. Perceptor was ready when Scope twisted and straddled his lap, grinding their interface panels together. Scope seductively leaned in and nuzzled under Perceptor's chin, his voice a static laced purr, /I don't want to wait. You can clean me after you've made me dirty. Very dirty./ 

A small intake of air from the larger mech and Scope foolishly assumed that he'd won, but Perceptor was not so easily swayed, despite being obviously aroused himself. “Will you behave yourself for a few kliks? You wanted cleaning and I've obliged, so please, kindly sit still and allow me to finish the task.” 

Even on his expressionless face, Scope's pout was clear, promising another try after his muttered fake apology. He sat as motionless as a statue, lulling his handler into a false sense of security and working out the perfect time to strike. Perceptor poured a good amount of cleaning fluid onto a soft cloth and started cleaning down Scope's barrel, nimble fingers probing inside. Scope bit back on a moan, distracted from his plan as the fingers down his barrel drew multiple shudders from his frame as they pressed against sensors not often touched. 

Arousal was thick in the room, Scope could feel it radiating from Perceptor in a thick wave. Embracing him in a promising embrace, a teasing snippet of what was to come. The more Perceptor's hands drifted over his frame, the harder the arousal was to ignore. 

As his opportune moment approached, Scope readied himself and jumped on it. With Perceptor distracted and lulled into the belief Scope was behaving, it was easy for Scope to make his move. He moved fast, shoving his hands down between their frames so he could rub unrelentingly at his handler's panel, fingers rough and heavy on the thick valve cover. 

/Stop that,/ Perceptor chastised, dropping the cloth and grabbing Scope's wrists, wrenching his hands back up where he could control them.

Scope growled, twisting his hands out of the grip and settling them on Perceptor's chest and tracing the glass window. Time for another tactic, /aren't I attractive to you any more? Have you found someone else?/

“Must you turn everything around like that? You know full well what I think of you and you don't need to hear it again. Do not turn me into a villain because you aren't getting what you want. Now let me finish this task and we'll talk about what happens next.”

Scope huffed, it had been a long shot. Perceptor had always been the same, always planning and following a routine. Experience had taught him that pushing Perceptor too hard, too fast was a recipe for disaster, inevitably it always ended with Perceptor getting annoyed and leaving. Usually leaving Scope revved up, charged and desperate for an interface that Perceptor wouldn't be in the mood to give for another week. As needy for overload as he was, Scope really did want the deep clean being offered and settled down to behave a little more. 

Even with their differing opinions of how cleaning should be done, Scope was always excited when Perceptor agreed to the job and sat down surrounded by strong solvents, polishes and lubricants. There were parts of his frame that Scope could never reach himself, it wasn't impossible, but it was fiddly and involved removing parts of his armour. All the twisting in the world couldn't help him get a bore snake down his barrel while it was still on his back. 

Perceptor knew how important being clean was to Scope, his little lover had a desperate need to be clean and stay clean. Everything around Scope had to be perfectly organised and cleaned, perfect order for his peace of mind. Although it had never been discussed, Perceptor had come to the conclusion – based on evidence and past stories – that the need to clean and stay clean was one of the last remnants of Scope's old life and one that would never disappear. Raised in the slums where filth was a part of everyday life and a layer of mining dust covered everything, any mech would want to be clean, but as always Scope took it one step further. Cleaning to him meant control over his surroundings, for a long time it had been the only control he had over his own life and it brought him a sense of peace and calm. On the rare occasion Perceptor left a mess anywhere – rare because he was fastidiously clean mech himself – Scope couldn't recharge until it was tidy, even if it meant walking all the way back to the lab by himself in the middle of the night cycle. 

Perceptor's skilled touch worked Scope up faster than a cheap buy mech with a millionaire client. Scope squirmed in his lap, purring loudly and begging for an overload or five. Deft fingers worked the cleaning cloth over Scope's barrel hinges, picking out the clumps of gritty lubricants and oil that built up from everyday movements and transformations. Once the parts moved freely, Perceptor moved on to the next area.

/When we get back to Cybertron, lets go for one of those hot oil soaks like we used to go for. They were the best, nothing else has ever made me feel that clean, it removed dirt from places I didn't know existed. I'd kill to be that clean again./

Perceptor chuckled, “they were more than satisfactory.” He wasn't a vain mech himself, but even he wouldn't turn down a repaint. Starting a nice peaceful life with a fresh frame, free of the scratches and tarnishes of war would finally provide him – and he suspected a lot of other mechs too – with the fresh start they all craved and the ability to put the war behind them. 

The war was a strange thing to both Perceptor and Scope, when it started as a distant rumour, they had both been peaceful scientists, shy lab mechs who dedicated themselves to the sciences. Unravelling the mysteries of the universe one question at a time. The structure and perfect beauty of the world and the universe, unbreakable and predictable. The complex and addictive drug of knowledge. Life had been good, regimented, following a nice, set pattern.

First and foremost, Perceptor was still a scientist, but with Scope he knew the excitement of being more. It wasn't the killing - in a million vorns he'd never get used to taking a life, even if it was a Decepticon's - but getting out of the lab and holding Scope, feeling that power surging between his hands, knowing he was the master of an instrument of death. The perfect, structured mathematics of the perfect shot, quickly calculating angles, distance, speed, resistance and timing. That was exhilarating and had the added bonus of saving his friend's lives. 

He wasn't stuffy, lab mech Perceptor any more, he was respected, his skill with a rifle something of awe. Both in the lab and on the battlefield, mechs trusted him to look after them. It was a burden and a privilege, but with Scope it was a mutually pleasing task.

"You're going to have to transform," Perceptor said as he stroked from barrel to hip, following the contours of Scope's frame, “it is easier to get into your internals that way, I'll do your armour last.”

Scope gave a long huff from his vents and removed his hands from Perceptor's sides, /do I have to? I want to touch you too./

"You can touch me after I'm done with you."

Scope whined and transformed slowly, his new form laying across Perceptor's lap. Now restricted in his rifle mode - probably only so Perceptor could work without hands over his chest and interface panel - Scope shuddered. As powerful as he was when he was a weapon – able to offline a mech from so far away that they never heard the shot coming - his rifle mode left him vulnerable. Essentially he was at the mercy of his handler and there was something about that he secretly liked, a sort of self imposed, forced submission. It took trust, willingly handing himself over to become another mech's tool. 

In the time before Perceptor, back when he was a slave, Scope didn't know better and loved when Tripwire would take him shooting. At the time it felt good, Tripwire was a good shot and it felt wonderful to fulfil his coding, but it wasn't until Perceptor that he found what he found what had been subconsciously missing. He'd never trusted Tripwire, it was fear that made him obedient, not respect, so when Perceptor spent time earning his trust and gently smoothing over the mental wounds left by Tripwire, they were a better team because of it and shooting went from feeling good to feeling amazing.

The cleaning cloth glided over Scope's frame, leaving his dark paint gleaming in the low berthroom light, highlighting the deep silvery scratches through his paintwork gouged into the base metal. Perceptor took his time, spreading the cleaning fluid in small circles to work out the deepest dirt. He'd designed his cleaning kit himself, collecting and fabricating tools that would make the fiddly task of cleaning internals an easier one – but more importantly a shorter one.

Scope was in heaven. Every touch charged him more, not a problem if he was in his robot mode, but his rifle form converted any excess energy in his frame into to a firing round and after too much build-up, the only release he'd find would be in shooting. Regardless of how funny it would be to him, Scope doubted the mech living next door would enjoy being shot at. 

Perceptor worked fast and precise, cleaning the small moving parts, removing old, congealed oil and replacing with fresh lubricant where it was needed. Occasionally Perceptor felt Scope try and move when he touched something particularly sensitive and the bond flared with frustration and fresh arousal.

“I'm nearly done,” Perceptor said, knowing how uncomfortable it was for his partner to be immobilised and revved up, unable to release the pressure. It was hard to miss the warning signs when Scope was vibrating in his lap, his entire frame heating as it readied itself for action. The cleanser evaporated almost as fast as Perceptor could apply it, leaving patches of clean paint that Scope would spend hours scrubbing at unless Perceptor went back later to even it out. 

The aroused charge swirling around the room was still thick, despite most of Scope's being converted a good proportion still clung to his frame like glue, sparking in tiny electrical arcs to Perceptor's hands. Perceptor had muted the bond in an effort to keep his focus on the job, but Scope fed it out of spite, letting information from his frame pass over it along with arousal and need. Perceptor bit back on a moan but couldn't hide the fact that he wanted to interface just as much as his partner. 

There wasn't time to finish entirely cleaning Scope before it would become too uncomfortable for Scope to handle. Perceptor worked with more care, keeping his implements away from the more sensitive areas of Scope's frame to buy himself some time. 

Even plagued by arousal and distraction, Perceptor kept going and finished Scope relatively quickly. Far from his best time, but he was glad the job was done. For the wax and polish, he'd need have too go back later when Scope had cooled enough to stop immediately drying the cleaner. Setting the tools down, he patted Scope's side, “transform back, I'll polish you when you've cooled down.” 

Perceptor watched Scope with amusement as he transformed and stood shakily, his EMF radiated lust and want, masking the affection that was usually present. His vents roared even louder than Perceptor's in the otherwise quiet room. A soft moan as his frame shifted slowly back into position and set itself into place with a soft click. He staggered a few steps to the side and then flopped into Perceptor's lap, his long, sharp fingers immediately finding the sensors and fine wiring under red armour. /I want you to frag me,/ he said lowly, voice mostly static.

Perceptor wrapped his arms around Scope and pulled him close, “I can do that. Now you've let me finish.” 

With a pleased growl, Scope moved and straddled Perceptor, grinding their panels together, /no teasing, I want it now./ 

“You're impatient.”

/No. I'm buzzing and you are not doing anything about it. You revved me up like this, you get to deal with the aftermath./

Perceptor's interface panel slid back with a click, his spike extending between them. A brief smirk appeared on his lips, silently challenging Scope, who was the slow mech now? Not to be outdone, Scope replied by retracting his own panel and sliding closer to thrust their spikes together. Perceptor's spike dwarfed Scope's in size and girth, Scope's hand couldn't wrap around them both, although he still tried his best. They moaned simultaneously as Scope started stroking them in time. Perceptor's head fell back as Scope's fell against his chest with a tink of metal on glass. 

Twisting to the side, Scope tried to snake his free arm behind his back to finger his valve, but his position made it impossible and he choked out an annoyed whine. Perceptor was more than happy to oblige, running his large hands down Scope's back and cupping his aft. Gently, far too gently for Scope, Perceptor circled his valve, easing his finger inside and pulling back quickly when Scope thrust his hips down roughly and hissed. 

“No,” Perceptor chastised, his voice thick, “didn't you learn your lesson last time? I don't want to see you in the medbay again because of me.”

Scope's engine revved, annoyed. /Tarn is bigger than you and he's less careful. Just frag me./

The mention of Tarn's name didn't have the desired effect Scope was hoping for, instead of angering Perceptor into interfacing him hard and rough as he liked, the effect was the exact opposite. 

Perceptor felt a pang of guilt for what his lover went through at the hands of the DJD and felt more determined to show Scope that not all interfaces had to be hard and fast. There was a time, before Scope's undercover mission as Agent 113, that Scope preferred long and gentle. Those were among the best interfaces either mech had ever had. The slow build, long drawn out foreplay and the quiet, almost begging noises as Scope would slide down onto his spike. The explosive overload that knocked them into a sated recharge, onlining in the morning with their limbs knotted together, Perceptor's spike still deep in Scope's valve.

Perceptor held Scope's hips still with his free hand and gently eased the thick digit back into the smaller mech. Scope fought against the grip, there was a time when he would have taken whatever Perceptor gave him, soft or hard, fast or slow, but that time was long gone. That was back when he'd been submissive, since then he'd been forced to become a fighter, dominant and forceful to hold up his rouse of being a loyal Decepticon. Forced to become a mech so alien from what he'd been that sometimes he didn't recognise his old life as his own. Vos, a mech that the harshest of Decepticon's feared. The side effect of becoming Vos was that he'd become a fighter and liked things done his way and only his way. 

Scope was a handful, but Perceptor still had the upper hand, he was one of – if not the only – mech Scope truly respected. Scope liked to fight against power, always had and would probably never stop, but Perceptor was the one mech who could control him enough to make him back down.

Scope's valve tightened around Perceptor's finger as he moaned deeply and rolled his hips in a wide circle. Sensors flared to life and pulled a pleased shiver from his frame. /Stop being so careful,/ Scope hissed, /I can take it./

Perceptor didn't answer with words and certainly didn't speed up. Slowly adding a second finger, he felt the callipers shift and loosen, accommodating the girth, only when they were loose did he thrust his fingers against the sensor nodes. Scope arched back and cried out, fighting against the hand still holding his hips still. 

/Please,/ Scope begged.

“Patience,” said Perceptor, although there was no anger in his tone. Visiting Ratchet for torn valve lining wasn't the way he wanted to end the evening. 

Scope had other ideas and threw his weight forward, knocking the unsuspecting Perceptor flat to the berth. Done with being controlled, Scope slid down until his valve was sliding along the thick spike of his lover. Perceptor's choked moan urged him on and large black hands gripped his hips, helping him to move. Sparks jumped between their interfacing equipment, harmless and entirely pleasurable as they activated sensors to small for hands to stimulate.

Vents raged in the berthroom, punctuated by moans and soft cries and both mechs lost themselves in each other. Sensors forgotten by disuse came online like a wildfire, burning searing pleasure through their frames. It had been a long time since they had a chance to meet each other, even longer since they'd been alone. 

Valve dripping lubricants, Scope gripped Perceptor's spike, holding it steady as he lowered himself down the length. It burned, Perceptor was a large mech compared to him with a spike twice as large as his own, perfect for hitting every sensor at the same time but thick enough to stretch him uncomfortably for the first few seconds. The burn quickly subsided into a blissful stretch that left him feeling perfectly full. 

Perceptor was the perfect fit, no other mech came close. 

Allowing himself a few kliks to enjoy the spike pressing on his lower valve nodes, Scope offlined his optics, sinking further into the feeling as he rolled his hips. A sharp cry broke from his vocaliser as he shifted, changing the spike's position on his sensors. The pleasure was so much it was almost uncomfortable, a deep pressure that made his frame shudder with every micrometre of movement. 

Perceptor had offlined his optics, his hands and sensitive fingers trailing over Scope's frame, following the contours of purple armour. Bucking his hips up gently, the noise his lover made was sinful. Again and again he pulled the same movement, his spike – too big for Scope too take in one go – sank a little deeper with each thrust. 

They lost themselves in the moment, wrapped in each other's EMF and feeling the sparkbeat they were so accustomed too. As the pleasure built, both mechs forgot about the outside world and the problems they faced, focusing on the reminder that they had each other and enjoyed that familiarity.

Scope's valve rippled as his callipers finally adjusted to the size and girth. Bracing himself on Perceptor's chest, Scope threw his weight back and screamed blissfully as his interface panel met Perceptor's and the large, thick length sank fully into his valve.

For Perceptor's sake, Scope tried riding slow, rising and falling in time with their spark beats. Willing to try and draw the pleasure out like he used to, like Perceptor had always liked. The times they'd spent all night with just foreplay were long gone. War had made everything more urgent. The need for a fast overload outweighed the gain from all night foreplay and a quick interface could be fit in between shifts or secretly while they should have been working.

The pace didn't stay slow for long, Scope was impatient at the best of times and Perceptor wasn't stopping him from moving faster. Between Perceptor's upward thrusts and the tight grip he had on Scope's hips, the slow pace quickly became brutal. Much more like the pace he'd become accustomed too while living on the Peaceful Tyranny. 

Scope rolled his hips in a wide circle as he let Perceptor take the lead, preferring instead to drown in the sensations. The grip on his hips became less for support and more for control as his larger lover pulled him down to meet each rough thrust. 

They moved in together perfectly, synchronised to each other with precision that only a lifetime of learning each other could produce. Scope dropped his weight down as Perceptor thrust up, meeting each other in the middle where the force was at its peak, slamming into sensors relentlessly. 

Perceptor's hands moved over the lithe purple frame bouncing in his lap and worked under light armour to tug gently at the wiring beneath. His movements were taken well and Scope cried out, one hand staying on Perceptor's chest as a brace and the other stroking up the microscope barrel to the lens where his sharp, clawed fingers could dig into the sealant and make Perceptor squirm.

And squirm Perceptor did, arching into the cruel touch with such force that Scope was almost thrown from his lap. A heavy gasp from Perceptor contained some words, lost in the moan that accompanied them. Asking for more or asking to stop? Scope didn't care, his fingers found the same sealant around his lover's chest window and scratched again. This time a whimper, a long drawn out cry of pleasure mixed with just the right amount of pain to make his sensors sing.

Scope's overload hit hard on a particularly vicious thrust – probably accidental on Perceptor's part but Scope wasn't about to complain. His back arched back to a near impossible angle and his valve tightened enough to make Perceptor gasp. A few ragged strokes on his spike and Scope screamed his pleasure into the small room, his transfluid coming in multiple streams over Perceptor's chest, splattering against the glass. 

Perceptor's grip on the slim hips of his lover tightened as his spike was squeezed. Pulling Scope down to his chest, he held him there and roughly rolled his hips up, forcing his wide spike deeper into Scope, pressing relentlessly on the ceiling node and sending the rifle thrashing through a second overload. The rhythm was lost as Perceptor continued to thrust shallowly, barely pulling his spike out before grinding it back into the smaller mech. 

Lost in pleasure, Perceptor's overload was so hard that Scope could feel his spike pulsing strongly as it filled his valve to overflowing. Perceptor was almost silent through his overload, gritting his teeth as the explosion of pleasure went through his sensor net like miniature fireworks. 

Together they collapsed like jelly to the berth, Perceptor's spike still deep in Scope. Transfluid seeped out between them, mixing with valve lubricants and pooling on the berth. 

It took all his effort to fight the urge to curl up and recharge, but Scope forced himself to stand, lifting himself gingerly off the spike. He groaned at the feeling of loss, his valve stretched wide, clenching empty air. What transfluid had been trapped inside him now ran free, dripping down his legs and onto Perceptor. As much as it disgusted him, Scope's engine warmed, revving at the sight and for a moment he was struck with the urge to climb back into Perceptor's lap and start all over again. 

“Later,” Perceptor said tiredly, feeling the renewed surge of arousal on the bond, “we have the time to go again. Maybe a nice slow one next.”

/More than one. Many of them./ Scope corrected. He agreed with the later part though, as much as he wanted it, he couldn't fight the fatigue in his frame. He'd save his charge for later and wake Perceptor by spiking his valve, that was always enjoyable for the both of them. Stepping away, he grabbed the cleaning cloth from the floor and stacked the bottles of cleaning fluids back onto the shelves where they belonged. Slow and meticulous, he cleaned himself, then Perceptor and the berth, removing all signs of their activities. A brief look around the room and he could relax, having confirmed it was clean and tidy.

Perceptor hadn't moved from his spot on the berth. He lay on his back with his left arm under his head, optics offline but not yet in recharge. Scope sprawled over his chest, wriggling close to get comfortable, his engine purring his contentment. Tired and sated, they curled up together, Perceptor wrapping his free arm around Scope and lazily stroking his back. Possessively protecting him from the outside world. At least for a little while, while he was holding Scope and not fighting Vos. 

Scope snuggled as physically close as possible, pressing his face to Perceptor's chest and pulling on the bond tightly so he'd be woken if Perceptor tried to leave. /I am glad to be home./

“Me too,” Perceptor said softly.

Scope feel into recharge quickly, but Perceptor lay awake, cradling the rifle to his chest. Recharge didn't come easily to him as a simple question chewed at his processor as it always seemed to do when they were together; did they love each other or were they in a twisted master and slave relationship where they owned each other?

Love or jealous possession?

They'd never said 'I love you', Scope had come close once in telling Perceptor that he was 'special' to him. 

Could they survive if there was no love? 

It certainly wasn't healthy, but it was very enjoyable.


End file.
